The Same Deck
by Mystikat
Summary: Kagura figures that if she's not insane then Sesshoumaru must be. Despite that, she likes his flavor. [Kagura x Sesshoumaru]


**The Same Deck**  
_dis.claimed._

You know that you are in trouble when you feel the sinking. The ground loses touch with reality and the sky swirls and the nail polish you patiently painted on earlier turns liquid and drips to the grass beneath you. Maybe this is insanity. Or not; you know some real crazies and since you're not running around in a baboon fur, you figure you're still sane.

…More so than _him_, anyway.

So you are sinking and not insane and wondering why he looks so deadpan and, well, just plain dead. Maybe he is dead and you just haven't smelt the rot on him yet. You sniff the air; testing for that metallic perfume you carry constantly (not yours, of course). It occurs to you that he's too dignified to _bleed_. You think he's just stubborn, but he refuses to associate with an adjective that describes his brother. That's probably why you delight in calling him just that: "You're so _stubborn_, Sesshoumaru!" Then he will shift and glare and you will have the satisfaction of knowing how truly easy it is to provoke him. It isn't the time for all that now because he certainly has an advantage what with you being on the ground and vomiting. _How_ you got there is simple; you sank. _Why_ you're here is another matter entirely. You're not insane, so you must have a fever. (Even if you've never been sick before.)

"Kagura," He condescends. His tone implies what he leaves unsaid. ("Fool. Don't put on such a weak display in front of my person.") You hate him suddenly. You hack up the rest of this morning's breakfast into your mouth and spit at him. A sort of stillness descends on the scene and your rebellion is very bitter and pinches your eyes closed. He is… not pleased at your behavior. His clawed fingers grip your hair and lift your limp body up and he shakes you roughly until bright black spots mock you beneath your eyelids. He is not angry. That is another adjective that belongs to his brother. You do not know what he is right now. Maybe insane, if you are not.

You swallow. Eyes as red as your perfume slit open and stare at his snarl. His nose must be overwhelmed by the reek of blood and vomit and _tea_. Green tea. You practically bathe in it every morning and evening and chances in between. You like its smell as opposed to the other two. He smells like stale air.

Your hand decides to clamp around the wrist of the hand holding you. You clench and your nails dig into his skin and you note that they are still red. Good. He's the insane one. So far gone that you are sure that if Inuyasha exploded, he'd twist physics and implode. It can't be healthy to be that obstinate.

Maybe that's why you are both so at odds with one another. You are contrary (Mary, Mary) past the point of health as well. You are two aces of diamonds in the same deck; so one of you has to be a fake. It's not him, you know, but he's insane so maybe you can convince him otherwise. You've always been good at mind fucking. Just ask Kouga.

He is watching you and you smile at him for show. The fact that his nose wrinkles in disgust is just another point for you. You don't argue when he drops you and you release his wrist so you can tumble back to sweet dirt un-halted. Just to spite you, he catches your form before you hit and places you over his shoulder. You drool into his hair and he pinches your leg and you think that he is flavored _bitter_ because bitter pinches.

It's alright that he is carrying you off because he knows where he is going and you don't. For a time, you went sky and another time straight down and now you are somewhere between a decorated body and the sky (again). You wonder what it would be like if the body was undecorated and it was the dirt and him that you were between. As much as you try afterwards, you cannot shake the image of him and you and sweet, sweet earth. You do not imagine how sky factors into this because you've already fallen and you do not care to show him, nor anyone else, a repeat performance.

All you want to do is sleep, but you are not weary and even then there is no rest. Soon you will sip your tea and peel off your sticky elegance and brush your hair and then you'll smash your fan and sip your tea. You will purposely leave his room in disarray. What comes of all your nursery rhyme games and veiled warfare is not anything you understand quite yet; so you will pout. He will snort at you and you will sneer back, but you never sweeten your tea and he is always bitter.


End file.
